To the Depths
by Power of the Wol
Summary: Bootstrap is sinking down, down, ever further into the dark abyss. But he can’t die. Trapped in a world of pain, his only chance of escape lies with Davy Jones. . .
1. Chapter 1: To the Depths

**Power: This story has appeared in at least one fanfiction I've read, and I I've been itching to write a fanfiction focusing on this subject myself, so here goes.**

Pulled the title from one of Davy Jones' lines in DMC. Seemed fitting. :D

Bootstrap Bill and this version of Davy Jones © Disney.

To The Depths

He was a man who did not need to eat, drink, or sleep. He did not need to breathe. . . and he could not die. But he screamed when they threw him over the side. Fought desperately against his bonds as the water enveloped him. The cannon sank, pulling him down with it.

The light filtering through the water began to fade. Darkness rushed up to meet him.

When he stopped struggling, he was still sinking.

Then he began to feel it: the pressure finally rising, beginning to crush him.

Bones breaking, organs rupturing, healing, the cycle starting over. Trapped in a world of pain, he began struggling again. He could not feel the clothes on his skin or the water clogging his lungs, but he could feel pain. The Gods who had placed a curse on the Aztec gold had had malicious minds indeed.

If there was anything he could do, any way at all to end the pain, he would do it. Without hesitation. Whatever the cost.

And still he was sinking.

Bootstrap focused hard, blocking the pain from his mind. As long as he could distract himself he could do it, enough to be able to think coherently. He began to turn his mind to the stories, myths and legends of the sea. If the legend of Isla de Muerta was true, surely there was a chance that the other stories could be too. . .  
There was one. One that could grant him freedom from this new life, but the legend also told of the cost. A grim fate indeed.  
And as he turned away from that option, he reminded himself that he would do anything to escape. After a few minutes of deliberating with himself, he had made up his mind. He would call Davy Jones. . . But how? He was sure there was a particular rhyme or verse that was believed to call the captain Flying Dutchman. A summon used by the non 'dead or dying' individual. It was thought that Jones was open to deals from the living. . . If you believed in that sort of thing.

It came to him at last.  
"_Davy Jones, a summon for ye,  
A proposal in mind, I have for thee,  
If this summon is heard, then answer me!_  
Without meaning to, he'd shouted it.  
There was no answer. Bill was not sure what he had been expecting. A voice in his head? The rational side of him pointed out that Jones might take a while to get to him. So he waited, angling his neck around to look in all directions, watching for some sign of the Flying Dutchman. It was pitch black; he couldn't even see the end of his nose. One thing he was certain of was that he was that he had stopped sinking.

He squinted into the darkness to his right. He was sure those were the lights of a ship. A ship? Underwater? Was this the legendary Davy Jones at last? Well of course, there was not anyone else it could be.

As the lights got closer, the ship became more defined, at least what was illuminated by the lanterns. It glided through the water, silent as shark, just as deadly. It came to a stop right in front of him. He could see a flurry of activity on the deck in which lanterns were removed from where they were hung. Then a voice met his ears. Bootstrap was surprised that he could it so clearly.  
"An escort won't be required. I'll handle this alone." He could not yet place the accent, but it sounded Northern. A figure then appeared at the side of the ship, backlit by the lanterns, his features obscured. All he could make out was the hat, shaped like the horns of the devil himself, and the crab or lobster-like left hand. Claw was the more appropriate word. Then the figure was handed a lantern, which he grasped in his right hand and he was able to see the Captain's face. He did not like what he saw.  
Bootstrap watched as Jones simply stepped off the edge of his ship and then, once his feet had touched the bottom of the ocean, limp over to him. The lantern was suspended a few inches away from his face for Davy Jones to get a good look at whom he was addressing.  
"I heard your summon." There was a trace of amusement in his voice when he added, "Loud and clear."  
"Scottish." He muttered, finally placing the accent, "You're Scottish."  
Jones smirked. "You weren't expecting an _Englishman_ were you? What's your name?"  
"William Turner. But most know me as Bootstrap or Bootstrap Bill."  
"You're a pirate, then." He looked him up-and-down and paced around him. "Tied to a cannon and sent to the depths of my Locker. There be no point in asking, "What can I for you?" then. May enquire as to how you are still. . . alive?"  
"I'm not," Bill replied truthfully. "I'm not among the living, yet neither am I dead. I'm cursed."  
"Cursed?" he asked, looking genuinely interested. "You must have committed a terrible act to become cursed, Mr. Turner."  
"I took a coin from the chest. A piece of Aztec gold from the Isla de Muerta."  
"The stories are true then," he gave an amused. "Huh." Then focused his attention back on Bill. "I suppose you'll be wanting an end to your suffering?" The briefest flash of jealously flicked through Davy Jones' ice blue eyes, but Bootstrap caught it.  
"The stories say you're cursed too. A tormented spirit doomed to Captain the Flying Dutchman for eternity. What "terrible act" did you commit to bring that down on you?"  
There was a long, drawn out pause. Jones' expression was unreadable. Just as he was beginning to regret asking, the Captain finally answered. "I cut out my heart, Mr. Turner and lived; a defiance of nature."  
Turner's eyes lit up; he saw chance to learn more about the reality of the 'mythical' Davy Jones. He wondered how far he could push this. "And there's no escape for you?"  
"But of course. Death."  
Bill shook his head. "What keeps you going, Jones? Have you no desire to end it?"  
Another pause crawled by. Bill stared, unflinchingly into Jones ice-cold glare and saw his answer. Love. And hope. He had carved out his heart to escape from it, but he had not forgotten. And although he would never admit it to anyone, he had hope, that one day Tia would accept him. "That does not concern you, Mr. Turner."  
"My apologies, Captain. I did not mean to be so obtrusive."  
"Back to the matter at hand then. 100 years before the mast, Mr. Turner. Will ye serve?"  
"I will serve."  
Jones smiled. "Grand."

**Power: I made up the rhyme myself, on the basis that there should be some sort of way to draw Jones' attention if you're alive and willing to make a bargain, other than deliberating wrecking your ship, or encouraging the Kraken to attack you. XD A sort of division, if you will, between people who want a deal, and those who don't/have one forced upon them.  
Feel free to use it without permission.**

Everything regarding this scene and some 'facts' about Davy Jones is pure speculation on my behalf.


	2. Chapter 2: Welcome Aboard

**Power: I was hoping to take this beyond a one shot, but did not say it in case I could not find a way to continue.  
What I am aiming to do is to explore Bootstrap's life aboard the Flying Dutchman and the relationship between Bootstrap and Davy Jones. glowers Not like that, you perverts.**

All characters belong to Disney. sighs

Welcome Aboard

Bootstrap Bill flinched slightly when Davy Jones cut through the ropes binding his hands with his claw. And in the space it took him to blink, the crushing pressure stopped. He stooped to untie his bootstraps from the cannon. "How did you do that?"  
"An extension of my curse," he explained. "But as it is not the true curse, I can set its limits. You won't be able to leave the ship without my express permission and when you have that, you can walk on land where I cannot." Jones turned on his heels and limped back to the ship. Bill quickly followed his lead. "Tell me more about this curse of yours."  
"Better, I can show you."  
The Captain turned at this. Bootstrap was looking up. Instinctively, he looked up as well, even though there was nothing to see. "What are we looking at?"  
"The moon is out." He frowned and looked at Jones. "How do I know that?" The Captain just smiled and continued on to the ship. Despite the fact that he was limping with a crab leg, Bill was the one struggling to keep up.  
"Otherwise the curse entails that I don't need to sleep, or breathe. Food turns to ash in my mouth and drink doesn't satisfy. I feel nothing. . . except pain."  
Evidently that part of the curse did not make much sense to Jones, either.  
"The worst part is better seen than explained."  
"Something to do with the moon, I gather."  
"Aye. Moonlight reveals us for what we truly are."  
They had arrived the ship.  
"New recruit, Captain?" One of the crew called down. Bootstrap picked out the owner as the silhouette that resembled a hammerhead shark.  
"Aye. This is Bootstrap Bill Turner." Jones caught his questioning look. "Maccus, my first mate," he explained.  
He nodded in understanding.  
A rope ladder was thrown down to them. Bill wondered how Jones was going climb up with just one hand. The next thing he knew, the Captain had vanished in the blink of an eye.(**A/N 1**) Startled he looked up to see him on deck, turning to face him. Bill looked down, looked up, and looked down then back up again.  
"Are we going to stand here all night, Mr. Turner?" Maccus growled.  
Bootstrap hastily began to climb the ladder at that. Hands reached down to grab him and he was hauled, roughly, onto the deck. Upon straightening, he found himself face-to-face with Jones once again. It took him a moment to realise that the Captain was a few inches shorter than most of his crew. (**A/N 2**)  
Jones smiled like a shark. "Welcome aboard the Flying Dutchman, Mr. Turner."

The Captain left it to Maccus to assign Bootstrap his duties. He was ordered to compile an inventory of the ship's cargo, so he would know what went where and what was considered to be salvageable items.  
When that was done, he was to report back to Maccus.  
As he headed to the stairs that would take him below deck, Bill noticed that members of the crew were tying ropes to themselves and swimming out to catch fish as the Flying Dutchman ascended. Then he had reached the stairs and the fishermen were obscured from view.

The cargo hold was deserted and quiet. The first thing that surprised him was, although it was clearly not full to the brim, it was not as empty as he had been expecting. There were the obligatory bottles of rum and he noted with some surprise that they also kept their empty bottles. It then occurred to him that they would not be able to store the rum in wooden barrels if they travelled underwater often.  
Most of the items stored in the hold were practical items, such as weapons, cannonballs and the like. There were also some locked, watertight chests. He assumed the Captain only had access to these.  
At the far end were large, metal containers, encrusted in coral and all manner of sea life. The lids of these containers were grated allowing him to see the contents. Live fish were swimming around inside them.  
When he had finished compiling the inventory, and he had had to go around the cargo hold several times to make sure he had not forgotten anything, he hurried back up to the top deck.

Bootstrap was on the stairs that lead onto the top deck when he heard a shout. "Surfacing! Brace yourselves!" It was Maccus.  
Immediately the cry "Brace yourselves!" went up, passing along the deck to the bow. The crewmember at the top of the stairs, coming down, sat down and grasped the banister firmly as he shouted down "Brace yourselves!"  
Bootstrap followed his example.  
The much lower resistencey of air caused the ship to accelerate suddenly and surge out the water. When the bow smashed down into the surface of the water, a jolt shuddered through the Flying Dutchman. Bill started moving when the crewman above him starting moving. He looked up at the night sky. The moon was currently obscured by a cloud, shielding him from its light. But it was not a particularly cloudy sky, and he knew this cover was not going to last. Well, they would find out about him sooner or later, there was no use hiding. Be spotted Maccus emerging from the Captain's cabin and quickly headed over to him.

"No wrecks to report, Greenbeard," the first mate was saying to the crewman manning the wheel as Bill approached. "But there's a storm approaching."  
He could sense it too.  
"The wind's in the wrong direction for us, we'll have to dive again when it hits."  
Greenbeard nodded "Aye sir."  
They both turned their heads when they heard footsteps on the stairs.  
"Mr. Turner," said Maccus. "Report."  
One minute Maccus and Greenbeard were talking to and looking at Bootstrap Bill Turner. The next thing they knew Bootstrap had gone and a skeleton, with the remains of a well-worn coat, shirt and trousers hanging off it, was standing in his place.  
Startled, Greenbeard gave out a yelp and let go of the wheel.  
Maccus took an involuntary step back.  
The yelp had drawn the attention of the crewmembers closest to them and he could see eyes widening and jaws hanging open – if they possessed them. This inactivity drew the attention of the rest of the crew in a wave, until Bootstrap had the attention of the entire ship.  
Bill found it inwardly amusing that the crew were horrified at what _he_ looked like. Then he looked closer and realised that it was not terror that locked their gazes, but morbid fascination.  
A voice at the back of Maccus' head screamed at him to do something, to bring the crew back in line before-  
"What's all the fuss?" An unmistakable voice demanded behind him. The three turned to face him. It was then that Davy Jones noticed Bootstrap. His eyes widened in surprise and for a few seconds he did not recognise who was standing before him. Then it dawned on him. "Mr. Turner." Jones circled him, slowly, riveted. "Worst part indeed. You're more of a sorry mess than I am." His tone was amused but Bill swore he could see a hint of sympathy in the Captain's eyes. When at last, Jones was satisfied that he had inoculated himself against Bootstrap's appearance, he turned his attention on his inactive crew. "Back to work!" he roared before heading back into his cabin.  
The crew jumped and quickly returned to their routines.

**Power:  
A/N 1: Teleportation. There to be abused. XD  
A/N 2: There'll be none of that "8-foot-tall" rubbish in _this_ fanfiction.  
This shall continue. Con crit is welcome.**


	3. Chapter 3: First Wreck

**Power: To NazgulQueen/toolazy2login (XD totally understand): The whole "Jones being really tall" is annoying, I'm like: WTF? What movie were _you_ watching? Wow, looks like everyone in POTC gets a jumbo height boost.  
I mean it's all over Youtube: all you have to do is search "Jack trades Will" and there you have it; Jones standing not more than 2 inches taller than Jack.  
8 feet tall indeed.**

Sorry this took so long to write. Couldn't find a way to link a few paragraphs together.

All characters © Disney.  
John Reading © me.

First Wreck

Lightning split the sky in two, sending thunder crashing as the Flying Dutchman struggled through the storm. Just as Maccus had predicted: the wind was blowing with them. The ship would have slowed to a halt had the wind not also whipped the sea up. The tall waves crashed against the stern of the ship pushing it forward.  
Davy Jones cabin was taking the brunt of the storm's fury. His pipe organ juddered with the force of each breaking wave and he cringed at the discords this produced. Usually it did not take him long to work out a storm's rhythm and adjust his playing accordingly. This storm was playing to a slightly erratic beat. Jones smiled. He liked a challenge.

Bootstrap Bill was one of a party of crewmembers scouring the top deck for loose objects, such as mops and buckets that were to either be taken below or tied down. They would not dive till this was done. Despite being common objects, they were not particularly easy to salvage due to the fact that they could break easily or float away from a wreck.  
Bill was half listening to Jones' playing as he handed a mop and bucket to the crewman coming up the stairs. He noticed that the discords had stopped and the tune had changed.  
"Mr. Turner!"  
He looked up in response to the bellow. It was Maccus. The first mate beckoned him over and Bill quickly complied. He was lead up the stairs to the Captain's cabin, but Maccus did not knock. Nor enter.  
"Listen!" He had to shout over the roll of thunder, even though Bill was less than a foot away.  
Bootstrap listened. He had come to the conclusion that Davy Jones confined himself to his cabin to play his pipe organ a lot. The music was loud enough to reverberate throughout the entire ship and clearly audible even over the storm, but sitting this close meant he could hear the tune better.  
"The Captain is never, _never_ to be interrupted during _this_ tune," Maccus hissed in his ear. "He'll let you off, just the once, but the blame comes down on _my_ head for not warning you. Understood?"  
Bill swallowed and nodded.  
"Good. Now back to work, you've heard enough."  
He carefully descended the stairs, holding onto the banister firmly with both hands. Just as his feet touched the deck, he heard one of his team shout, "Deck's clear!"  
"Prepare to dive!" Maccus hollered back. "Brace yourselves!"  
"Brace yourselves!" The crew shouted to each other.  
Bootstrap watched as some clambered into the rigging, while others hung on to anything that was bolted down. Preferring to keep his feet on solid ground, he clung to the ship's side rail for dear life.  
The bow plunged below the waves. The water rushed up the deck towards him. Already he had decided that he hated this part.

It was a few days later that it happened. Bootstrap Bill's first shipwreck.  
He was amazed by the amount of storms they sailed through; it was as if the Flying Dutchman attracted them. That or they deliberately sought them out. Thinking about it, the latter seemed the more reasonable conclusion. How else would they find wrecked ships and more souls to crew the Dutchman?  
As rain pelted the crew, the wind howled against them. The supernatural properties of the ship demanded that she must sail against the wind, thus the Flying Dutchman was making good time, slicing efficiently through the waves.  
Maccus hovered by Davy Jones shoulder, watching him intently. Jones held the wheel in a grip of iron with hand and claw, but his eyes were closed. His sixth sense was buzzing in response to a ship foundering on a reef close by, but he had to concentrate to find it. He pictured a compass in his mind. The needle swung around two full circles before settling on east-northeast. Opening his eyes, he made the adjustment.  
"You found a wreck, Captain?"  
Jones smiled over his shoulder.  
Maccus grinned then raised his voice for the rest of the crew to hear. "Lads! We've got ourselves a wreck."  
The crew cheered: this was what they lived for.  
Bill looked around at the crew who were shaking hands or patting each other merrily on the back. He found himself being thumped on the back by a crewmember who introduced himself as Clanker.  
"You haven't been in a boarding party yet, 'ave you mate?"  
"No. I haven't."  
"I'll make sure to ask Mr. Maccus to bring you along then," he grinned.  
Bill swallowed. "What exactly. . . happens on a shipwreck?"  
Clanker stared at him before he realised, "Oh right. You weren't picked up off a wreck, were you?"  
"No, I wasn't."  
"Turner! Clanker! Minds on your duties!" The Bo' sun warned.  
Clanker sighed, rolling his eyes as they went back to swabbing the deck. "Mr. Jimmylegs the Bo' sun. Not a pleasant chap. Prizes himself on cleaving flesh from bone with each strike."  
"Thanks for the warning, I'll bear that in mind."  
"Not that you'd need to worry, being a skeleton and all," the good-natured grin Clanker offered him swiftly vanished when he caught the pained look on Bootstrap's face. The crewman grimaced and berated himself for being such an "uncaring idiot".  
"It's all right," Bill sighed. "I brought this on myself."  
Clanker's questioning look clearly asked "How?"  
But Bootstrap was not in the mood to talk about it. "You were saying? About the wreck?"  
"So I was. First thing is to search the wreck for survivors and salvageable items. Survivors are brought to the top deck for Captain Jones to inspect. He offers them a place in his crew, if they refuse, we slit their throats and send them to the depths." A pause. "That's about it really."  
"We kill them?"  
"Aye, that's right."  
He looked aghast. "Why not just take the poor fellows to land?"  
Clanker guffawed. "What do we look like? A transport service?"  
The crewmen closest to them laughed with him.  
Bootstrap stared down at his feet. "I'll pass."  
"You will go on a boarding party whether you like it or not, Mr. Turner."  
He looked up sharply, startled, straight into Davy Jones' ice blue eyes.  
How did he-? Bill shot a look over to the wheel, where Maccus was now steering. When did he-? He straightened up to his full height. It pleased him, somewhat, that Jones had to look _up_ at him.  
"Is that understood?"  
"Aye Captain," he replied, solemnly.  
"Then you will accompany this fine gentleman," he said gesturing towards Clanker, who beamed at the compliment. "on the upcoming boarding party. Any objections?"  
"No Captain."  
"I should think not." He turned and _thunked_ back to the wheel.

The waves shot high off the rocks, sending white spray over the wreck.  
"Boarding party! Move out!" Maccus commanded.  
Bootstrap Bill looked out at the distance between the Flying Dutchman and the wrecked ship. Were they expected to swim across? It looked rough. Even for men who were immortal, cursed, part sea creatures.  
"Bootstrap." It was Clanker. The crewman grabbed his hand. "Come on mate, just stick with me."  
Bill let his new friend pull him along until he realised where he was being pulled too: the main mast. "W-wait. Stop, what are you doing?" He watched, open-mouthed as Clanker simply _walked through_ the wood as if it was liquid. "No! Wait! Let me-!" Bootstrap was cut off as he was pulled through the main mast. He saw nothing but brown, then black, brown again and then he was being pulled out of the broken mast of the wrecked ship. Bill looked from the mast, to the Flying Dutchman, to Clanker. "What did we-? How did you-? What?"  
Clanker laughed at Bootstrap's confusion and released his hand. "Jones can move himself from one place to another. So can we. Just, his is more direct."  
The pirate was dusting imaginary flakes of wood off his coat. "Why so?"  
"Experience? More focused mind? Better magic? All of the above?"  
He nodded absently, still staring at the mast.  
"We'd best get started."

"Here, Bill. I found one."  
Bootstrap hurried over to Clanker. A young man around the age of eighteen was cowering in fright at his friend's gruesome appearance.  
He had short brown hair and green eyes, his face was streaked with blood. Clanker made to grab his elbow.  
"Get on your-"  
"Wait!"  
He stopped and looked at Bootstrap questioningly.  
"Let me."  
Clanker pulled back and watched.  
Bill reached out a hand. "Come on, lad. No one's going to hurt you."  
Timidly, he reached out a trembling hand to grasp Bootstrap's and was pulled to his feet.  
"What's your name?"  
"J-John Reading, sir."  
"Bill Turner. This is my friend Clanker."  
Clanker waved, a little sheepishly at the young man. "Hello."  
John swallowed. "Mr Turner?"  
"Call me Bootstrap."  
John frowned. "That's a pirate name, isn't it?"  
"Aye, it is."  
"But you're too nice to be a pirate."  
He chuckled. "It is possible to be a good man and a pirate, Master Reading."  
Clanker elbowed him and nodded his head to where Maccus was waiting, a line of four men before him, on their knees. Bootstrap sighed.  
"This way, lad."  
"What's going to happen to me, Mr. Bootstrap?"  
"I don't know, Master Reading."  
"That's up to you," Clanker added.  
John looked up at him, clearly afraid. "What do you mean by that, Mr. Clanker?"  
The crewman grinned. "You ever heard of Davy Jones?"  
The young man's eyes widened in horror. "That's why you're here, then. You want me to join your crew."  
Bootstrap looked uncomfortable. "Jones wants you to join his crew."  
"What happens if I say no?"  
"You die," Clanker said simply.  
"So I don't have much of a choice then."  
"That depends," said Bill.  
"On what?"  
"How much you think living is worth."

_Thunk_, step, _thunk_, step.  
John Reading's eyes widened. "Is that him?"  
Bootstrap patted his shoulder, comfortingly. "Aye, that's him. But don't worry, Master Reading. He's not as bad he's made out to be. . . Sometimes."  
John watched in awe and fear as the legendary Davy Jones strolled down the deck before him. Their eyes met briefly, and he shuddered at the coldness in them.  
Jones continued on down the line, assessing the five men kneeling before him. Which one was the weakest? Which one should he target first? All were trembling in fright, their faces pale, and their eyes wide. Only three of them were making any attempt to return his searching gaze and that included the youngest one. Their eyes met and locked and Jones decided that the youngest one should go first. He stooped until they were face-to-face. "Do you fear death?"  
John stared back into Jones' cold blue eyes and it seemed to John as if they were peering into his very soul.  
"Do you fear that dark abyss? All your deeds laid bare? All your sins punished? I can offer you an escape."  
"Escape?"  
He smiled and nodded. "All I ask for in return is 100 years before the mast. Will ye serve?"  
John looked up at Bootstrap, then at Clanker and back to Jones.  
"What say you?"  
"If I agree to serve on the Dutchman, will the same thing that's happening to them and you happen to me?"  
Jones' gaze hardened slightly and his smile faded a little. "Did I neglect to mention that servitude would not come with out. . . side effects. A fair exchange for living beyond this point, though, is it not?"  
John set his features and returned Jones' stare. "No. It is not. I will not serve." He flinched slightly under the Captain's suddenly icy glare, but held his ground.  
Jones straightened to his full height, and met Bootstrap's gaze. "To the depths, then!"  
He stared down at John and unsheathed his sword. Then his arm stopped obeying his commands. Bill shook his head. "No. I can't." It was not fair. He dared to look up, expecting a furious Davy Jones, instead, the Captain was smiling at him. It caught Bill off guard; the fact that Jones could look genuinely benevolent if he wanted to.  
"You're new, I understand." As fast as the sea changes its mood, Jones' voice and expression went from soft to harsh. "But consider this. Is it best to kill him now, or to throw him back into the sea, alive?"  
Bootstrap battled with the morality of the situation. Why not just take the poor boy to land? But he knew Jones did not work like that.  
"Well?" Judging by the tone of his voice, the Captain's patience and "compassion" were waning. "Lest we forget, Mr. Turner, _I_ upheld _my_ end of our bargain. Do you want me to go back on my word. . . ?"  
Bill closed his eyes briefly, then stooped to whisper in John's ear. "I'm so sorry, John."  
"There's nothing to forgive," he replied, all trace of fear gone from his voice.  
Bootstrap put his sword to the young man's neck and without hesitation, wanting to get it over with for both of them, slit his throat. Clanker caught his falling body and threw him overboard, into the awaiting sea.  
Shivering, Bootstrap met Jones' icy glower.  
"I'm sorry, Captain. I-" he swallowed. "I won't disobey your orders again."  
"See to it that you don't." He turned to walk away, but decided he had something to add. "And in future, Mr. Turner, I recommend _not_ acquainting yourself with them. You may run the risk of getting _attached_."  
He was only being nice, and polite. But he had to admit that Jones had a point. "Aye, Captain."  
Jones shook his head, taking on a more mournful expression. "You're a good man, Mr. Turner. But good men do not have a place on my ship."  
There was not anything he could say to that.  
After convincing three men to serve aboard his ship, he turned to his first mate. "Do we have what we came for?"  
"Aye Captain."  
"Then withdraw. Return to the ship."  
"Aye Captain." As Jones teleported away, Maccus began the withdrawal back to the Flying Dutchman. "Move out! Back to the ship!"

Bootstrap stumbled slightly when Clanker thumped him affectionately on the back. "Cheer up, mate. It was what he wanted. Can't say I blame him."  
"I'm all right," he sighed, feeling empty. Yes, he'd killed men before, but it was usually in a fight, not for simply refusing to serve on a ship. But Clanker was right. It had been the boy's choice to die. "Is Jones normally so. . . lenient to new crew members? Or am I special?"  
"Yes. Jones is normally lenient to new members of the crew."  
"Ah."  
"It won't last long, though. So don't expect too much from him."  
"He's already exceeded my expectations."  
Clanker laughed and stopped in front of the mast. "You up for a game of Liar's Dice? If you're free, that is."  
"I've never played."  
"Then I'll teach you."  
"Sure. I haven't been given any jobs for this afternoon."  
Clanker beamed. "I'll see you on the other side." And disappeared into the broken mast.  
Bootstrap stared at it. He inhaled then exhaled forcefully, rubbed his hands together, looked at it once more, than launched himself at it. Instinctively, he held up his hands to shield himself as he ran into, then through the mast. He decided that he hated this more than diving.

**Power: He, he. Loved Bootstrap's "Gwah?" moment the best, personally. XD  
I've got no idea who's who when it comes to Jones' crew, but if Clanker is indeed the guy who says "Get down on your marrowbones and pray!" then he looks like a nice bloke and wrote him accordingly. :D Especially for Fly Like a Blueberry Pie. Although I did not intentionally write him in, it just sort of. . . happened.  
Decided to make Jones more characteristically meaner in this chapter, He needs a break from being nice. XD**


	4. Chapter 4: Pirates

**Power: Bootstrap takes more of a backseat in this. Whoops.  
Edit: Noticed a line was missing. Must remember to use (,) for thought instead of .  
Corrected the spelling of Ogilvey. Thanks to Fly Like a Blueberry Pie. :D**

Chapter 4: Pirates

The white-grey wisps of fog drifted by as the Flying Dutchman slid silently through the waters. It was a month after Bootstrap Bill Turner's first wreck. The Flying Dutchman was sailing through a peaceful sky when Davy Jones sensed a shipwreck. And here they now were.  
"Captain?" Maccus hissed.  
Jones scowled. He could sense what they were sensing. And that was nothing. The fog was not supposed to be here. And yet it was fog that was imposing on their field of vision. They could see it, could feel the cold droplets condensing on their skin, but they could not sense it.  
The crew where whispering to themselves. Usually they had no trouble seeing through fog, but now they were as blind in it as a normal mortal. Jones' much finer tuned sixth sense was buzzing in response to something his crew could not feel. A concentration of a supernatural force was also here. And the fog was rolling off it.  
"Mr. Holmes?" Jones called up to the crow's nest. The watcher was one of the three recruited from the shipwreck a month ago.  
"No good, Captain, I can't see a thing."  
"Keep your eyes peeled."  
"Aye, Captain."  
Debris floated slowly past the ship as the Flying Dutchman drew closer to the wreck.  
This was close enough, Jones decided. "Hold here!"  
Maccus hurried off to begin boarding preparations as the crew furled the sails and dropped the anchor.  
"Mr. Maccus?"  
He paused. "Aye Captain?"  
"Make sure to bring Mr. Turner and one of the new ones along for this one." A pause. "Make that Mr. Watson."  
Maccus grinned. "Aye Captain."

The Captain paced the deck, waiting to hear word from his first mate. The boarding party were bustling back and forth, handing salvage to non-barding party members to take down to the hold. As he waited, Jones directed his sixth sense on the focal point, trying to figure out what it was and why it was giving off such a vibe.  
He froze suddenly, hearing something. There it was again. The creaking of an intact ship.  
A big ship, he deduced from the sounds of it. Not that size mattered. There was not a ship that sailed the seven seas that could survive an attack from the Kraken.  
The fact that it was approaching was what grabbed his attention.

"Any survivors?"  
Maccus spun around, startled then stood to attention. "No survivors, Captain. Only salvage. This appears to be the work of pirates."  
Jones nodded. "We have company approaching. They will arrive in a few minutes."  
"We'll move as fast as we can."  
Some shouting drew their attention. It was Bootstrap. He had found someone.  
Maccus and Jones were at his side instantly.  
Bill pointed out into the mist. "Over there, Captain."  
He squinted into the mist in the direction the man was pointing. And then he saw him. A small figure sprawled out on plank of wood. He could not sense the presence of death on him.  
"Leave him. He's just a boy."  
Bootstrap sighed. (About the same age as William,) he thought to himself.  
"If you have any doubts as to his survival, Mr. Turner, let me put your mind at rest. Another ship is approaching."  
He smiled then, relieved.  
Jones turned to Maccus. "Give the order to withdraw."  
"Aye, aye, Captain."  
Maccus and Bootstrap hurried over to their crewmates as Jones teleported back to the Flying Dutchman. While the first mate oversaw the withdrawal from the top deck, Bootstrap headed down to the lower decks. There was a spring in his step.

Davy Jones observed from his place at the wheel the bustle of the returning boarding party die down. Then Maccus shouted out the list of names again.  
"All present and accounted for, Captain," the first mate reported.  
"Good. Lower the sails and weigh anchor."  
"We're not going to stay and fight?"  
"I have no intention of engaging a ship in a fog that should not exist."  
"The Kraken?"  
"The Kraken won't come." (**A/N 1**)  
Looking somewhat relieved, Maccus nodded. "Lower the sails! Weigh anchor!"  
The crew stepped to it and within minutes, the Flying Dutchman was pulling away, Davy Jones at the wheel.  
Movement caught his eye, drawing his gaze to a spot just left of the wreck. Very briefly he glimpsed another ship, also pulling away. One feature jumped out at him. The ship's shredded sails. Then it was gone, hidden from view by the very fog it was creating.  
The glimpse was so brief, Jones was unable to discern whether the ship's dark sails were due to the bright white of the fog, or if they were indeed darkly coloured. After a few more seconds frowning at the space where he had seen the ship, Jones pulled his gaze away and turned his attention back to steering the ship.  
"The fog thins up ahead, Captain."  
"Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

"You're looking awfully cheerful," Clanker observed.  
"Aye." Bootstrap grinned. "One survivor, returning to the land of the living."  
He chuckled and shook his head. "Ah. That's why."

Bootstrap Bill folded his arms and stared up at the ceiling. He could not sleep. But then he was cursed, so this was normal. He had not slept at all since he took the coin from the chest.  
Why did they not take advantage of this and assign him permanent watch duties? Sitting on the top deck doing nothing was better than lying here doing nothing at all. He sighed and got up out of his hammock. As quietly as he could, Bootstrap slipped past a sleeping Maccus, who was snoring slightly and ascended the stairs. He found a crewman named Ogilvey at the helm.  
"You're early," he said.  
"I couldn't sleep."  
Ogilvey eyed him. "Are you my relief? I don't seem to recall your name being on the watch rota, Mr. Turner."  
"I can always go back-" he turned as he said this. The crewman's hand shot out to grab his elbow.  
"If you _insist_, Mr. Turner. The watch is all yours."  
Bootstrap smiled and sat down on the chair by the wheel. "Goodnight, Mr. Ogilvey."  
"Goodnight, Mr. Turner," the crewman yawned, disappearing below deck.  
Bill lent back in the chair and looked at the stars in the sky. The moon slid out from behind a cloud and he was a skeleton once more.

**Power:  
A/N 1: Because the Kraken no likey concentrates of ooh, teh spooky supernatural-ness.**

For a minute there, I thought I was running out of ideas for this fic. No such luck. From the looks of it, this fic is going to be at least 16 chappies long. Oo Cripes. I just hope I'll be able to write this baby. I apologise in advance if some of the chapters are a little short.  
As I'm enrolling on College on the 25th, I don't yet know my timetable. And I'm sorry to say this, but To the Depths is going to be playing second fiddle to my work. I'm sure you can understand.


	5. Chapter 5: The Black Spot

**Power: I realised in good time that I needed to add this chapter in and move the following chapters down one.  
The concept introduced into this chapter needed to be explained as it is expanded on in the second. Makes sense, no? XD  
BTW, if anyone wants to attempt to catch me on AIM, my username is MAEVE7287.**

I was expecting this chapter to be short. Instead it's my longest chapter.

Arlen McCarthy is © me.

Chapter 5: The Black Spot

Bootstrap Bill sighed as he looked around at the crew. Free of duties. It sounded odd, but he found himself dreading free time. There was not a great diversity of things to entertain oneself with on the Flying Dutchman.  
Attempted conversation with other members of the crew did not usually get far. He discovered to his disappointment that most of them were not willing to volunteer personal information. And those that were, such as the newest recruits, Watson, Holmes and Jekyll, were currently on duty. And that included Clanker.  
A few of the crewmembers were playing Liar's Dice. He rested his chin on one hand and occupied himself with watching them.  
All the events leading up to his effective incarceration on the Dutchman played out in his mind with vivid clarity. He shook his head to clear those thoughts and tried to think of something happier. But he was in a dismal mood and everything that came into his head was appropriately gloomy.  
Bill's train of thought was quite suddenly and rudely derailed. He looked up to see Maccus standing over him.  
The first mate smiled like the shark he was becoming. "Captain wants you."

"I have a job for you, Mr. Turner," Davy Jones informed him by way of greeting.  
"Aye Captain?"  
"A man called Arlen McCarthy has a debt to pay. His ship, the Rosalyn, pulled into Port St. Thomas (**A/N 1**) a few days ago. Considering that it hasn't come out, I assume McCarthy is still there. I want you to give him this." He held out his right hand, which was closed around something and opened it into Bill's right palm, still maintaining physical contact, then closed Bootstrap's hand and pulled away.  
He stared down at his now slime-covered palm, grateful that he lacked the sense of touch, but could see nothing.  
"Now, onto the matter of which of these fine gentlemen you would like to accompany you."  
A group of crewmen consisting of those on free time had assembled before him. They stared back with hopeful expressions.  
One of them eagerly raised his hand. "Ooh, me! Me! Pick me!"  
Bill recognised him as the one with the dodgy head-neck connection. "I'll uh. . . pick him."  
"Mr Hadrus it is then."  
"Yes!" Hadrus eagerly joined his side as the rest of the crew got back to entertaining themselves.  
Jones turned to Maccus. "Bring up his disguise."  
"Aye Captain."  
"Are you otherwise prepared for an immediate departure, or do you need more time?"  
Bootstrap unsheathed his sword to examine it, as did Hadrus and sheathed it again. "I'm ready," they chorused.  
"Good. Once Mr. Hadrus is disguised, you depart. Understood?"  
"Aye Captain," again in unison.  
The Captain _thunked_ back to his cabin, leaving the two crewmen to wait for Maccus to return.  
The first mate reappeared with a cloak, which Hadrus put on, a scarf, which he wrapped around the shell half of his head and a hat, which he put on top of the scarf.  
"Off you go, then."  
They approached the main mast.  
"Mr. Turner, Mr Hadrus?"  
Both turned, but Bill spoke. "Aye, Mr Maccus?"  
"I suggest you jump."  
He turned back to stare at the mast, nervously as Hadrus replied. "Aye sir," then ran at it, one hand holding onto his head. The crewmen disappeared into the mast.  
Bill followed behind him, leaving enough time for his comrade to get clear. When he saw brown again, he flung himself forward and his feet came into contact with a stone floor.  
"Lucky no-one was here to see- Whoops."  
Bill straightened to see the Harbourmaster staring at them, mouth agape then looked behind him at the side of the ship they had just jumped out of. Hadrus reached into a small leather pouch hanging from his belt and pulled out three silver coins. He then pressed them into the Harbourmaster's hand, smiling. "You didn't see a thing."  
The man swallowed and nodded.  
"Let's get going. Turner is it?"  
"Aye. But you can call Bootstrap."  
Hadrus made to head off further into the port, but Bill stopped. "One moment." He turned to the Harbourmaster. "Do you know of a man called Arlen McCarthy?"  
The man thought for a moment. "Yes, as it happens, I do."  
"Do you know where we could find him?"  
"I just watch the ships, I'm afraid. Where people go after that is none of my business."  
"But he's still here?"  
"Yes. I've not seen him at the harbour since he arrived."  
"Thank you."  
"Can I ask you something?"  
"What do you want to know?"  
"Who exactly are you?"  
Hadrus smiled at that in a "wouldn't you like to know," manner, then grabbed Bill's elbow "Come on, Bootstrap," and headed off into Port St. Thomas proper.

"Best place to start is in a tavern," Hadrus was saying. Bootstrap was half paying attention to him. He was walking. On land. "How long has it been? It feels like a year."  
"Hmm?"  
"Aren't you glad to be off the Dutchman?"  
Hadrus smiled ironically. "You'd think that. But the truth is, the longer you spend on the Dutchman, the longer your years in servitude, the more you become attached to it. And I mean that literally and figuratively."  
"The legends _do_ say that those who serve aboard the Dutchman become part of it."  
"I'll introduce you to Wyvern when we get back. Poor soul needs more people to talk to. He can't move from where he's standing you see."  
Bootstrap swallowed. He was not sure he wanted to see.  
"Here we go," said Hadrus.  
The pirate looked up to see that they had stopped in front of a tavern called The Anvil. They went inside and made a beeline for the bar.  
"Two of your best rum," he said placing two silver coins on the counter. The coins were removed and replaced with two tankards of the aforementioned drink. Hadrus scooped his up and chugged it down happily, savouring the taste.  
Bill did likewise, sorely wishing he could taste it. "We're looking for a man called Arlen McCarthy," he said once he had finished and while Hadrus asked for another.  
"Arlen McCarthy, you say?" the barman thought for a minute, then shook his head. "Sorry, friend can't help you."  
Bootstrap wordlessly slid another two coins across the counter towards him.  
"Now that I've thought about it, I do seem to recall a Mr. Arlen McCarthy staying at Sullivan's Inn. Can't say if that be the same McCarthy you're looking for, though."  
Bill smiled. "You're too kind, sir."  
The barman smiled back. "I'm glad I could be of some help."  
"Come on Hadrus, finish your drink and let's be off."  
Hadrus sighed, swallowed the last of his rum and followed Bootstrap out the door.

They found Sullivan's Inn with no trouble. It was further up the road, not far from The Anvil. Bootstrap Bill approached the counter.  
"How can I help you gentlemen?" The landlady asked pleasantly, looking up from her accounts.  
"We're looking for Arlen McCarthy," he said mentally noting that this was the third time he'd asked that.  
"Who's asking?"  
"We represent someone to whom he owes a debt."  
"And we would appreciate your co-operation. We wouldn't want you to come to any unnecessary harm," Hadrus put in.  
Bill glowered at him.  
"All right," replied the landlady "No need to get shirty. You'll find him in room 23."  
"Thank you, ma'am."

On the way up the stairs, Hadrus bashed his head on the low roof, knocking it clean off his shoulders to land with an audible _thud_. Bootstrap flinched at the volume of the sound.  
Hadrus' hands flew to his neck and patted around. His head sighed. "Aunido. Down here."  
Bill bent to pick Hadrus' head up and gave it back to the rest of him.  
The crewman regarded him with surprise. "You're very kind, Mr Turner," he said as he placed his head back onto his neck. "Usually people just laugh or kick it around. Or both."  
"Well you've no need to worry, Mr. Hadrus. I'm not like that."  
Hadrus smiled.

_Knock, knock._  
"Who is it?" A male voice inside replied in a broad Scottish accent which was much richer and stronger than Jones'.  
"We have an offer you'd be very interested to hear," Bill replied.  
"Is that so?" the man laughed. "Just a moment." They heard movement then the door was being opened. "Don't move," the man warned, his pistol pointed at them.  
Bill and Hadrus exchanged knowing looks, but complied none the less.  
He looked them over, and deciding that Bootstrap had an honest enough face, let them in, but kept his pistol handy and sat a good distance away from them. "So. What's this offer you have for me?"  
"We've come to remind you of a debt you owe," Hadrus replied.  
He frowned. "A debt?"  
"You are Arlen McCarthy, correct?" Bill asked.  
"Aye."  
"And you made a deal Davy Jones, did you not?"  
The colour drained from McCarthy's face. "Has it been 17 years already?"  
Hadrus nodded. "Aye. And your time is up. Bootstrap, you have something for him?"  
Bill Turner stood up and reached out a closed hand to McCarthy, who held out a trembling palm, and imitated Jones' handing-over actions exactly. He watched and Bootstrap watched as a black spot formed before their eyes.  
"The Black Spot," said Bill. "It will draw the Kraken to you, or Davy Jones. The choice is yours."  
Hadrus stood up then, and two crewmembers left, leaving a wide-eyed and shaking Arlen McCarthy to decide his fate.

"Can we not pass through the wood here?" Bootstrap Bill asked.  
"No. The wood needs to be in contact with sea water for it to work," Hadrus replied.  
The journey back to the harbour was faster than the journey from it.  
Hadrus shot a grin over his shoulder. "See you on the other side, friend." And then he was gone.  
Bootstrap stood staring at the ship's hull. A sudden thought had struck him. What if he did not come back? Was that possible? Could he escape this way? He frowned. There was what could be best described as a sort of buzzing in his head. And then suddenly that unmistakable voice rung through his mind.  
**_Mr. Turner? What's keeping you?_** It was distant an echoey, as if Jones was shouting from one end of a massive cathedral.  
Bill reeled, eyes wide. "J-Jones?" In his shock, he forgot to address him as Captain.  
Laughter inside his head. **_I can see what you're thinking, Mr. Turner._**  
He realised with jolt that the reverse applied to him.  
**_Once you agree to serve on my ship, there's no escape. Not unless I end the contract. Come back to the Dutchman, Mr. Turner. No. On second thought, allow me to demonstrate._**  
Without warning he felt something pull at him, as if Jones had reached across the vast distance between them to seize the front of his coat. He was pulled roughly forward. Instinctively, he struggled, but the Captain had a will of iron and he felt like an errant child fighting against its parent. He collapsed through the other side onto his knees, worn out from his tussle. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Davy Jones' feet. Apprehensively, he tilted his head up.  
Ice blue eyes stared down at him with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "I advise you not to try that again, Mr. Turner."  
Wordlessly he nodded. Then frowned. "Captain? Who's Calypso?"  
The Captain's eyes widened for a split second, an expression of anguish on his face. Then it was gone. "You should forget that name, Mr. Turner."  
Bill watched after him as he _thunked_ back to relieve Maccus of the wheel. Could it be? Had the name drifting through Jones' thoughts been that of _the_ Calypso?  
"Move, Mr. Turner," Jimmylegs growled, poking at him. "You're impeding in people's duties."  
Bootstrap got to his feet and moved himself out of the way.  
"Don't worry, Bootstrap."  
He spun to see Hadrus standing beside him.  
"You're not the only one who's tried that. Come on down below deck with me. Clanker's come off duty. Wants a round of Liar's Dice if we're free." He nodded and followed Hadrus to the stairs leading below deck. Bill stared up at the Captain as he descended. Jones met his gaze and held it. Then he was gone, obscured by the deck.

**Power:  
A/N 1: Um, I borrowed the name from a modern port. . . Is that okay?**

Anyway. Anne McCaffrey and her Dragons of Pern saga admittedly influence the telepathy thing. With the fact that her dragons can teleport, communicate telepathically and levitate objects telekinetically, based on the fact that they are related/derivatives of the same base power. . . if I can at all explain it all properly. XD  
So, I argue that Jones' telekinesis manifests as his ability to raise ships from the ocean. So if he has teleportation and a limited telekinesis, then it's reasonably to assume he has telepathy too. But that's just me. . . I'm weird like that. XD You still want to talk to me?


	6. Chapter 6: The Kraken

**Power: Thanks to TheseBrokenWings for saying "Get back to Bill's character/personality already!" XD I need people like you to get me back/keep me on track. And I realised that this chapter was a good excuse to do just that. Good thing, too, that I've already got the next chapter lined up for the same purpose.  
Warning: lots of waffling ahead. Prepare to get bogged down with a ridiculous amount of speculations to the point where you feel like you're wading through hardening cement or your brain is short-circuiting.  
Don't say I didn't warn you. XD.  
EDIT: Corrected some HTML errors. Corrected the spelling of Hadras.**

Chapter 6: The Kraken

"Surfacing! Brace yourselves!" Maccus shouted from the helm. The Flying Dutchman tilted upwards.  
Heaving a sigh, Bootstrap Bill Turner wrapped one arm around the side rail. In the other hand, he maintained an iron grip on the net containing the struggling fish that himself, Clanker and Hadras had worked hard to collect.  
The Dutchman exploded out of the water and came to a crashing rest on the surface.  
"Thank God that's over," Bill muttered getting to his feet.  
"You hate diving, you hate surfacing, you hate shifting, you hate boarding parties, is there any aspect of your servitude that you _do_ like?" Clanker mused.  
"No."  
"It's going to be a fun 100 years for you then, Bootstrap," Hadras remarked.  
Clanker snorted. "Let's get this lot moved before we get into trouble."

They left the net with a crewman called Koleniko, who was overseeing the collection and distribution of the fish.  
"What are you doing after lunch?" Hadras asked.  
"Cannon maintenance," Bootstrap sighed.  
"Sail maintenance," Clanker replied with equal enthusiasm.  
"I'm inventorying and organising the cargo hold."  
"I'll trade you."  
Hadras shook his head, carefully. "Not a chance."  
"Bootstrap?"  
"Sorry, no."  
Clanker and Hadras suddenly found two struggling fish being thrust in their faces. Smiling cheerfully, Clanker took his share. "Thank you, Mr. Koleniko," they chorused.  
"You're welcome Mr. Clanker, Mr. Hadras."  
Bootstrap watched them devour their food, a pained expression on his face. But he smiled wanly at them when they looked his way. Ignoring their sympathetic looks, Bill glanced around the ship trying to find a spot that was devoid of people eating. He spotted Davy Jones near the helm, neatly cutting up his fish into bite size chunks with his claw. The only place he could look was out to sea. It was with a great deal of surprise that Bootstrap watched a massive tentacle emerge and slap down wetly and heavily onto the deck. Bill jumped up from where he was sitting, a loud curse escaping him. Although no one else reacted at all to the sudden appearance of the offending tentacle, he noted with some relief that this excluded Watson, Holmes and Jekyll.  
He looked around the ship and saw to his horror that more tentacles were sliding over the side. Was the Kraken _attacking_ the _Flying Dutchman_?  
Jekyll had drawn his sword and sought out his gaze for an explanation. Watson's hand went to his own sword, ready to follow Jekyll's example but confusion registered on his face when he saw none of the other, experienced members taking any action to defend themselves.  
"Put the sword away, lad," Clanker said at last. "It's just the Kraken wanting some attention."  
Jekyll obligingly sheathed his sword, if a little reluctantly.  
Bootstrap turned at the mention of his name in a list that also included those of the newest recruits. It was Koleniko. The four hurried to his side.  
"These leftover fish are for the Kraken," Koleniko explained. "Watch."  
He patted one of the tentacles and it raised itself up off the deck in response. The crewman placed a fish against one of its suckers and the tentacle, taking the fish with a great deal of care, withdrew. The foursome exchanged looks. Summoning his courage, Bootstrap patted another tentacle and as the other had done with Koleniko, it too raised up off the deck. As he was bending to secure a fish, it seemed to realise that he was not a crewman it recognised. He suddenly found himself being entwined in the tentacle and shooting out across the sea. This was quite understandably, something to scream about. So this was exact course of action that Bootstrap decided to take.  
Upsettingly, the tentacle seemed intent on plunging below the surface, taking him with it. Within seconds he found himself being confronted by a huge, unblinking eye.  
**_Now let's see. Which one are you?_** A feminine voice rang clear through his head. It lacked the echo that had accompanied Davy Jones' voice.  
Bill was thunderstruck. "W-what did you say?"  
The Kraken's eyes widened. **_You hear me?_**  
"A-Aye."  
The eye seemed to tear up. _**You listened. You answered. Congratulations. You're one of a minority. What's your name?**_  
"Bootstrap Bill Turner."  
**_You mean William Turner. Bootstrap Bill is your pirate name._**  
"Aye. . . that's true."  
**_Can I call you Will then? Oh no, wait. Will. That's your son's name._**  
"How did you-?"  
**_The same way you found out about Calypso._** There was a hint of bitterness in the Kraken's voice when it-she said Calypso. **_Such are the risks of communicating in this fashion; an exchange of thoughts and personal information. Most of the others don't like that aspect of it, so they don't use it. And they don't answer back. You're a lot like the minority. They were good men too. But they changed. They all change. You will too, Bill. It's already begun._**  
Bill closed his eyes. "That's not true."  
**_That so? I can see how you felt when you slit poor John Reading's throat. But the horror, the outrage, it's starting to fade isn't it? You'll like it eventually. You'll begin to relish the hunt of a live ship, delight in the pursuit of those who owe Father a debt, enjoy picking through the wreck of a dead ship, looking for the next poor soul to become your new crewmate. That's what happens to those on the Dutchman. Clanker used to be a good man. But not-_**  
"Clanker still is," Bill insisted.  
**_Not good like you, though. Not anymore. But then again you're not like the others. You're content with your servitude and your curse, because you believe that you must be punished for what you did. Now that's unusual. None of the others believed that they deserved this life. Maybe that's what affected them. Maybe that's what won't affect you.  
I also sense a stronger resolve in you, Bill. You became a pirate, like a lot of the others did, yet you were well known among your friends as a good, kind, honest man, and a good pirate. So maybe you won't change._**  
"So what is the purpose of this? Are you giving me a lecture on my character?"  
**_I'm the observational third party just telling you what you need to hear so you can decide whether you want to hold onto yourself or let yourself go. And I am also lonely individual in dire need of a conversation that doesn't revolve around "How was my day?"_**  
"I have no desire to change."  
**_We'll see. I think it's time I- What's this? Oh ha ha! You wish to change Father!_**  
"Change Jones? No. I wish to remind him that he is still a good man deep down inside, no matter how many time he tries to convince himself that he's not. He once told me that good men don't have a place on his ship. But if I'm still serving on the Flying Dutchman, he must be wrong."  
**_Ha ha! He won't be reminded so easily, Bill. Compassion is part of love and look what love did to him._**  
"Men don't change who they are, Kraken, they just forget. No-body changes."  
The Kraken was silent for a moment.**_ And what do you think of me, Bill? I am a monster, I destroy ships and take pleasure in it, I eat men and I savour their taste._**  
"You're just misguided."  
A long, loud laugh in his head. **_I like you Bill. I want you to know my name, before I put you back. Charybdis is what I am called. Named for that same mythological creature._**  
"It suits you," Bill remarked.  
**_Time to put you back now._**  
The tentacle holding him erupted out of the water before he could reply and zoomed towards the Dutchman at an uncomfortably fast speed. He was deposited in a heap at Davy Jones' feet.  
"Welcome back, Mr. Turner."  
"Good to be back, Captain," he replied without missing a beat, smiling winningly.  
"That so?"  
There was a yell as Charybdis pulled Jekyll under the water to examine him.  
"Aye. I've been in the Kraken-Charybdis' head and seen a side of you I've only glimpsed before. You were very kind to her, Captain."  
"I could see she was going to be useful, Mr. Turner, nothing else to it."  
"Of course not, Captain."  
Jones' cold blue eyes narrowed. "Do you not have duties to attend to?"  
Bill grinned, taking the hint."Aye, Captain." He got swiftly to his feet and headed below deck to tend to the Dutchman's cannons.

Bootstrap Bill looked up from removing incredibly stubborn barnacles from the inside of his appointed cannon upon hearing something.  
"_Davy Jones a summon for ye,  
a proposal in mind I have for thee,  
if this summon is heard, then answer me._"  
The voice sounded familiar.

"Mr McCarthy. We meet again." Davy Jones beamed, standing on the deck of the Rosalyn. Captain McCarthy had ordered his crew to abandon ship and head back to Port St. Thomas in the longboats, leaving him to face Jones alone.  
Arlen McCarthy nodded. "Aye. We made a deal 17 years ago," he spread his arms out. "Here I am."  
Jones tilted his head slightly to the left. "But why not run?"  
"I figured that there be no use in running, that you'd get me eventually, one way or another," McCarthy replied. And added with grin "And I figured you could use a fellow Scotsman onboard."  
The Captain smiled, amused. "Welcome to the Flying Dutchman, Mr. McCarthy."  
Once Arlen was onboard, Jones ordered the destruction of the Rosalyn. One of Charybdis' tentacles shot out of the water to drop a terrified Holmes onto the deck of the Dutchman. With no one onboard the Rosalyn to fight back, the Kraken made short work of McCarthy's ship. Her tentacles did not reappear and then Bootstrap heard in his head, _**Farewell, Bill.  
Farewell, Charybdis.**_

Power: There we have it. Character analysing. Also happens to be the title and theme of the next chapter.  
I hope I was able to get Bill's character back. Apparently it was being attacked by the story, had to step in and rescue it. XD!


	7. Chapter 7: Good Men and Bad Men

**Power: I'm a bad girl for not specifying when these chapters take place, but honestly, I've no idea when they happen either. XD But I'll try and remember to set a general idea.  
This chapter, then, is somewhere towards the end of Bootstrap's 1st year of servitude and possibly a month after the incident with the Kraken.  
Man, it took forever to write and string this chappie together. I hope the others don't come as slowly, but I have soo much to do for my Art course. XX  
Arlen McCarthy, John Reading and Paul and Lillian O'Grady belong to me.**

Chapter 7: Good Men and Bad Men

The Kraken was sick, Davy Jones concluded. That was the only explanation for her subdued behaviour. He had stumbled across her beached, suffocating and scared out of her mind on an amble around the Isla de Cruces. Her unusual appearance had prompted him to scoop her up into his arms and put her back in the sea. But there was something about her behaviour – the uncertainty of her movements, her naïve attitude towards him that led Jones to believe this giant cuttlefish like thing was in fact a baby. So he took the creature back to the Flying Dutchman and put her in a bucket. At first she seemed content with her new home and happily ate the fish he gave her. But now he noticed that her movements were sluggish and her skin had taken on an unhealthy colour. Jones sighed, stroking the top of her head as she wrapped one or two tentacles around his wrist. How did one cure a sick Kraken?  
_**Low. . . low. . . lone. . . Alone.**_  
That was the day Davy Jones discovered the Kraken could talk, Bootstrap Bill Turner remembered. Prolonged exposure to the Kraken's mind had left him with a few memories of Charybdis' early years. He was on watch duty, staring out across the sea with nothing but his own thoughts and memories to occupy himself with. The nights seemed infinitely longer than the days and he often found himself longing for his day shift, even including the free time he had come to loathe. Turner did not tire thus breaks were pointless for him. He had the curse to thank for that.  
Bootstrap roused himself from his trance to cast a cursory glance at the horizon, searching for an unfortunate live ship to prey on and wondered briefly how he would react if he saw one. But there were no ships in sight. Oh well. He would cross that bridge when he got there. An idea struck him. Bill could pass the time with conversation. Yes, Hadras and Clanker were asleep, but Wyvern was not. Of course he could not go below deck to talk to him; that would wake the others up. He closed his eyes and tried to reach out for the crewman with his mind. Bill hesitated briefly when he also felt the presence of other minds next to Wyvern's. This meant that the crewman was not occupying his own body and was inside the Flying Dutchman herself. He wondered, briefly, what would happen if he ventured into the ship, but his boredom was so overwhelming, he decided to go ahead with it.  
_**Wyvern?  
Bootstrap?  
Aye, it's me.  
No. You shouldn't have come; you're not ready.  
Ready for wha-?  
Who's this?**_ An unfamiliar voice asked.  
_**Someone new? You come to talk to us have you?  
We hardly get anyone in here, Jones least of all.**_  
Bootstrap tried to pull back, suddenly afraid.  
_**He's leaving, you scared him away, Warner.  
No don't go. I haven't spoken to a freeman for so long. Tell me what's been happening in the outside world.**_  
The trapped souls were talking to him, one over the other, all at the same time, till there was a deafening roar in his head. Bootstrap struggled, desperately trying to get back to his own body but they had him trapped. He was suddenly aware that someone was screaming, then realised with a shock that it was him.  
_**QUIET!**_ An all too familiar voice roared, cutting through both the noise and the ties they had on him, leaving him free to beat a hasty retreat.  
Bill opened his eyes to find himself being held, hand and claw, by the throat.  
"It's not usually wise to enter the Dutchman without an escort, Mr. Turner." Davy Jones snarled with the air of someone who had just been wrested from sleep. Out of the corner of his eye he spied Maccus' head poking up from the lower deck, a few other crewmembers crowding the stairs behind him.  
"S-sorry, Captain. It won't happen again."  
"It had better not. I like my sleep undisturbed if that's not too much to ask."  
"No, Captain."  
"What were you doing in there?"  
"I just wanted to talk, Captain. To Wyvern."  
A pause. "To your post, Mr. Turner."  
"Aye, Captain."  
Bootstrap was released and Jones stomped back to his cabin muttering about the time and what the possibility of him getting back off to sleep was.  
He rubbed at the bruises appearing on his neck and watched as Maccus and the crewmembers behind him went back to their bunks, save for two figures, which emerged from the lower deck and headed towards him. It was Clanker and Hadras.  
"What happened, mate?" Clanker asked, concern evident in his voice. "I heard you screaming something awful."  
"I only wanted to talk to Wyvern," he explained.  
Hadras' eyes widened. "You went inside the ship?"  
"Aye."  
"Without an escort?"  
"Aye."  
"Not nice is it? Seeing into your future like that," said Clanker.  
Bootstrap had not thought of it that way, but Clanker had a point.

The crew of the Flying Dutchman looked out over the burning wreck of a merchant ship.  
"Looks like it was pirates," said Maccus and then remarked "Again."  
Davy Jones frowned at that. The first mate had a point. This was the third wreck consecutively attacked by pirates. But then again it could just be a handy string of coincidences.  
"Proceed as normal, Mr. Maccus."  
"If it was the same pirates that attacked the other two, there's not likely to be any survivors. Or salvage."  
"No harm in looking."  
"Aye, true. Any requests, Captain?"  
"Mr. McCarthy."  
"Aye Captain."  
The boarding party came back with a few bottles of rum, three buckets, a box of tobacco and two swords.

"What do you think are the chances of the next wreck being attacked by pirates?" Hadras asked.  
Bootstrap scratched his chin. "Not likely."  
"Sounds like a wager to me."  
The two friends and the crewmen nearest them look around in recognition of the voice. It was Maccus.  
"What do you say, Mr. Turner, to a little wager? I bet 5 years that the next wreck is pirates."  
He swallowed. The stakes in his games of Liar's Dice with Clanker and Hadras were usually duties and he had yet to muster the confidence to challenge other, more seasoned players. Maccus folded his arms as Bootstrap shot glances at Clanker – who had emerged from the cargo hold, a bottle of rum and three tankards in hand - and Hadras. They both nodded. The odds were so unlikely, but Maccus seemed intent on the fact that there was some kind of pirate conspiracy going on. "Make that 10 years," he replied, boldly.  
The first mate grinned and extended his hand. "Agreed."  
They shook on it.  
When the other crewmembers had returned to their duties, Clanker sat down next to his two friends. "Bold move, Bootstrap."  
"Call it. . . bonding."  
Clanker choked on his rum.

"Mr. Maccus."  
"Aye, Captain?"  
"Another wreck."  
Maccus' eyes widened. "Is it pirates?"  
Davy Jones smiled, amused at the hopefulness in his first mate's expression. "No. The Kraken."  
**_Sorry, Maccus. But a Kraken's got to eat._**

A light fog descended on the wreck as the sea pulled it towards the place where most floating wrecks eventually end up; the Ship's Graveyard.  
"Boarding party, move out!" Maccus roared. A steady bustle to the main mast began as the chosen crewmembers hurried to obey his orders. Bootstrap Bill looked around when someone caught his elbow. It was the first mate. He smiled and extended his hand to show no hard feelings. "You win, Mr. Turner."  
Bill smiled back and shook his hand. "It could have gone either way, sir."  
"Aye. The wreck's sinking, we'll have to move fast."  
"Understood." They hurried through the mast and out the other side, whereupon Maccus repeated the information for the benefit of the rest of the party. Their speed picked up and a continuous line going to and from the Dutchman was soon established.  
As Bootstrap picked through the wreck, he sound found himself working alongside the crewman Koleniko. The navigator picked up an oar from the wreckage of a longboat. "Mr. Turner."  
"Call me Bootstrap."  
"Bootstrap, then. Keep an eye out for more of these. I've noticed the ones we have are starting to disappear."  
He wordlessly picked one out from the longboat he was inspecting and handed it over. Koleniko took it with a smile and headed off to the Dutchman. Himself and the navigator were one of the few who had been assigned the top deck and they had both been working their way down to the stern as the others inspected the bow. He was opening the door to the captain's cabin when Koleniko returned. "Found anything?"  
"No." Bootstrap entered first and made a beeline for the cabinets set into the walls of the cabin.  
His companion cast a cursory glance at his surroundings, deciding on what to examine first. He spun around when he heard a whimper and spotted a figure huddled in the corner of the cabin. "Bootstrap, I found one."  
Bill pulled his attention out of the drawer he was sifting through and looked at where the navigator was pointing. He slowly drew closer, motioning for the crewman to hold his position. "Easy there, lad, we won't hurt you." The figure pulled his knees closer as the pirate neared. "Give me your hand."  
He raised his head. "Who are you?" The tone and face were clearly feminine. He was in fact a she.  
Koleniko's eyes widened. "Oh no." He unsheathed his sword.  
Bootstrap frowned. "What are you-?"  
Then advanced on her but was stopped when his sword-hand was locked in tight grip. The navigator tried to pull his wrist free. "I have to, Bootstrap."  
Bill shook his head, resolute. "No."  
"Captain's orders."  
"Don't."  
"Fine." He stopped struggling and Bootstrap released him. "You want to face Jones, do it alone. This isn't coming down on my head." The navigator sheathed his sword and withdrew from the cabin.  
Bill sighed, remembering Jones' advice on getting to know names. He held his hand, which she took, if a little reluctantly. He noticed that she was wearing a wedding ring. "Come on, lass, come with me."  
"Who are you?" she repeated. "Where are you taking me?"  
"Outside."  
"Is that where he is?"  
"Who?"  
"Davy Jones?"  
Bootstrap regarded her with some surprise. "You know of Davy Jones?"  
"I do. My father's an Admiral of the Navy. He used to tell me the old legends of the sea when I was little."  
"I see." He headed out of the door and she followed.  
"Why did you spare my life, Mr. Bootstrap?"  
A pause. "It was the right thing to do."  
"You're very nice for a pirate."  
He smiled. "I get that a lot."  
A line of eight survivors had been lined up awaiting Jones inspection. The crewmembers nearest gave Bootstrap wide-eyed looks of surprise but he ignored them. "Just get down here." He looked around for the first mate as she shuffled quietly into place.  
Maccus looked around at the boarding party. "Is that all of them?"  
"Aye, sir. Mr. Turner's the last to return."  
Maccus closed his eyes. **_We're ready for you, Captain._** Then he glanced up and down the line, counting the survivors. A _thunk_ heralded the arrival of Davy Jones. The young woman hunkered down closer to the deck in fright. Bill caught the nervous look Koleniko shot him. Then Jones was standing next to the first mate, appearing out of the mist.  
"9 still alive, the rest have moved on," Maccus informed him.  
_thunk_, step, _thunk_, step. Jones strolled up the deck towards them, regarding each of the men in turn as he passed. Bootstrap caught his eye and he did a double take. Within seconds the Captain was stood before him. "Last time I saw _that_ look in your eyes, Mr. Turner, you were defending Mr. Reading." He spared a glance down at the young woman. She returned his gaze, terrified. His eyes widened. "Mr. Turner! Why did you let her live?" he hissed. Then seemed to realise this was stupid question.  
(Think, Bill, think. What would Jack do in your boots?) "Look at her finger, Captain." He held out his hand for the terrified lady to take, which she did, trembling. Her wedding ring glinted in the haze. "She's married, Jones. If you take her life, she'll leave behind that poor man. He'll be heart-broken. Would you hurt another man in that way, Jones? Subject him to the same pain you still feel?" Pity welled up in him at the turmoil evident in Jones' eyes. Bill did not like to stir up the man's pain, but he would not see reason any other way.  
"What would you have me do, Bootstrap?" He asked at last.  
Use of his pirate name; that was a good sign. "Give her a boat-"  
"One of my boats?" Jones cut in, indignant. "I-"  
"One of theirs, Captain."  
He surveyed the wreckage. "All their boats seem to have been destroyed."  
"You can raise ships from the sea, can you not?"  
"Aye, I can, but I'm not going to-"  
"Then surely fixing a small rowing boat is easily within your power?"  
"I do not do something for nothing, Mr. Turner."  
Uh-oh. Use of his surname; not a good sign. "She'd be in your debt."  
"And what good will that do me?"  
Bootstrap was silent.  
"Give me one good reason, Mr. Turner, why I should let her go."  
"Give me one good reason why you should not." He inwardly winced, expecting the Captain to take offence, but Jones simply tilted his head to one side as he considered his answer.  
"If I let her go, there'd be no guarantee that she would live; she could die from the cold or from hunger, or from thirst before finding land or another ship. And if I take her aboard the Dutchman, she would have nowhere to stay, save the brig and we do not have appropriate food or drink to give her."  
Shoot. That was two good reasons.  
"So what be yours, Mr. Turner?"  
"You'd have her family's gratitude, you could ask anything of them."  
"Such as?"  
He knew instantly that he was being tested. "Ask anything," meant that Jones no doubt had the intention of demanding that her life be spared in exchange for one of the men in her family, another poor soul condemned to crew the Flying Dutchman for 100 years. Bootstrap thought hard, trying to think of something, anything meaningful, then put on a broad smile. "Have you not missed the taste of a good whiskey, Captain?"  
Along with the name of Calypso, Bill had also picked up the name of Jones's favourite brand of Scottish whiskey.  
"Sorely," Jones admitted.  
"Small favours like that, then. Not every debt has to be paid with servitude on the Dutchman."  
"So I'm to let her go to face possible death by the cold, thirst or starvation on the off chance that she'll find rescue, all in exchange for a bottle of my favourite whiskey?"  
Oh well, if you put it like _that_ it sounded bad.  
"I think I'll pass, Mr. Turner."  
"Do I not have a say in this?"  
The two pirates stared down at the trembling figure, clearly surprised that she'd had the courage to speak out. Bootstrap and Jones exchanged looks.  
"And what do you have to offer, Mrs. . . ?"  
"O'Grady. Lillian O'Grady. Paul would give you anything you want, sir."  
"You do understand that the price for sparing one's life is 100 years in servitude aboard the Flying Dutchman?"  
Lillian's eyes widened, she could see where this was headed.  
"Do you consider that a fair exchange? Your husband's soul in exchange for your life?"  
She bowed her head sadly. "Paul would say yes, but I would say no."  
"So who's word should I choose?"  
"I understand my life would not be spared under normal conditions and the very fact that we are having this conversation is unusual, so then let it be mine." She raised her head again to meet Jones' ice blue eyes. "But must it be that? Is there nothing else you want?"  
Jones' eye's narrowed. "The one thing I want most in the world, I can't have," he hissed. "Or do you not know the legend of Davy Jones?"  
"I do know. And if you do this, my Paul will feel the same as you do."  
A pause. "Then I won't be suffering alone."  
So that was it then, there was no reasoning with him. Lillian lowered her head, as did Bootstrap. He was disappointed. For a few seconds he'd been certain that Jones was at least seriously considering sparing her life, but how quickly the scales had tipped against them.  
"Mr. Koleniko."  
The crewman nodded. "Aye Captain."  
"You're a good man, Mr. Turner, thank you for trying."  
Bootstrap closed his eyes as her throat was slit and her body thrown overboard. He felt numb. Not outraged, not horrified. Numb.  
"Mr Turner." There was ice in Jones' tone and Bill saw ice in his glare when his head was tilted up after he did not respond to his name. "This must _never_ happen again."  
He simply nodded and went back to staring at the deck when Jones removed his hand. The familiar sound of the Captain's hollow crab leg striking the deck faded as he stalked back to the first man in the line of potential recruits. Bill raised his head to meet Koleniko's sympathetic look.  
"Well there you have it, Bootstrap. A fine demonstration of how well Davy Jones can twist things to suit his purpose. Next time you should try thinking like him."  
"Next time?" He shook his head. "The Captain won't listen a second time."

The boarding party returned with 5 new recruits.  
Clanker was raising a bottle of rum to his lips when Bootstrap pulled it out of his hand to take a swig himself.  
"Oh dear. What happened?"  
"A woman."  
"Ouch."  
"Clanker. Have I changed?"  
"That depends on what you mean."  
He stared down at his hands. He had noticed of late, that his skin was becoming pale and several forms of coral were making their home on his coat. "Am I a good man, Clanker?"  
"Course you are, Bill. Nicest man I ever met."  
"And still am?"  
"Aye. Can't think of anyone who'd have the courage and heart to stand up to Jones' over a woman."  
"Holmes? Watson? Jekyll?"  
"Can't say I know 'em well enough to be able to answer that."  
"But you haven't noticed anything different about me?"  
"No. Why do you ask?"  
Bootstrap shook his head. "Just something the Kraken said."  
They both looked up when Jimmylegs stood over them.  
"Break's over, lads. You," he pointed at Bill, "can refuel the lanterns. And you can give the weapons a look over. Off you go."  
"Aye, sir," they chorused.  
"Catch you on night watch, Bootstrap. Bring some dice."

**Power: I decided to delete/rearrange the order of the original 7th chapter. I saw no point as the 6th chapter fulfilled the intended role already. Managed to sneak a reference to the sub/underlying story here. Extreme kudos if you know what it is.  
And feel free to give me a telling off if I mess up on people's characters.**


	8. Chapter 8: Shore Leave

**Power: Dude. Oh man. I had this nearly finished for a long time. But writer's block prevented me from writing an ending. --. Then something happened to so I couldn't upload anything.  
For future updates, I can't say how frequent they'll be but I've drawn myself a timetable of my week to organise my time. Hopefully this'll mean updates will come more frequently.  
Anywho. I consider this a slight deviation from the norm. . . If there is indeed a 'norm' when writing about life on the Flying Dutchman. . .  
Oh yes. I should give you a list of recruits picked up so far;  
Holmes, Watson, Jekyll, McCarthy, Birling, Goole, Croft, Bennet and Hyde.**

Chapter 8: Shore Leave

_"You're a good man, Mr. Turner. But good men do not have a place on my ship."_  
That had stuck with him. And it came to him more often now, since Lillian O'Grady's death. He had told Charybdis, the Kraken that he intended to remind Davy Jones that the Captain was still a good man. Lillian's enforced passing had given him the motivation to make good on that promise. And so while months passed, he watched and waited for the opportune moment, as Jack Sparrow would say, and more importantly, the right idea.  
"I wager 10 years," said Maccus, the first mate. Ogilvey matched his wager as did Jimmylegs.  
Bootstrap Bill and the other crewmembers currently off duty were all watching the game. An idea was coming to him. He turned to the crewman standing just behind him. "Clanker?"  
"Aye?"  
"Any crewman can be challenged, right?"  
"Aye. If they're on this ship, they can be challenged."  
He glanced upwards in the direction the Captain's cabin, tuning out the sounds of the rest of the crew so he could identify the current song Jones was playing.  
Clanker frowned, warning bells going off in his head. "Wait. Why do you ask?"  
Bootstrap inhaled, mustering his courage. "I challenge Davy Jones." All eyes were on him.  
His friend's eyes widened. "You can't be serious."  
Then the music stopped. It was too late to go back now. The Captain appeared at the top of the stairs, his expression that of amusement. "I accept."  
As the playing table was set up, Clanker thumped Bootstrap on the shoulder. "You're insane, mate. But good luck."  
He could feel his confidence evaporating as he took his place at the table.  
Jones took the opposite side. "The stakes?"  
Bill swallowed. "I'll go on boarding parties totalling that of a month, disposing those that refuse your offer."  
Jones raised an eyebrow. It was an unusual wager and he was now, admittedly, intrigued. "Against?"  
"I want you to do something nice for the crew, Captain, prove there's still a good man deep down inside you."  
He tilted his head to one side. Bootstrap had come to identify this as a positive sign. "Nice? –pewt- Such as?"  
"That's for you to decide, Captain."  
A pause. "Agreed, Mr. Turner."  
They both slammed their cups down on the table. Bootstrap carefully checked his dice. Four 4s and a 6. "Two 6s."  
The Captain checked his dice. "Three 4s."  
"Six 4s,"  
Jones met his confidant gaze. "Liar."  
The dice were revealed. And just as Bootstrap had been counting on, Jones had two 4s amongst a five, a three and six. "You win, Mr. Turner." He rose and headed back to his cabin. The crew heard him muttering to himself "Something nice. . . ?" as he passed by.  
Bootstrap heaved a sigh when the Captain was out of earshot.  
"Nice one, Bill." He looked up to see Clanker grinning at him. "Wonder what he'll do for us."  
"We'll see."

It had been over an hour and still Davy Jones did not re-emerge from his cabin. The crew of the Flying Dutchman kept shooting glances at the door as they eagerly awaited his reappearance. His vast pipe organ remained silent. Bootstrap Bill was surprised when he found the lack of noise unsettling. It had become obligatory. When Davy Jones confined himself to his cabin, music followed.  
Conversation drew Bootstrap's attention. A few crewmembers had approached Maccus. They were discussing what they considered "something nice" was and were asking Maccus to give these suggestions to Jones.  
He quickly approached the group. "No. The Captain must decide this alone."  
As if this was a cue, Jones finally emerged from his cabin. The entire crew stopped what they were doing and turned to look, hope and excitement clearly written on their faces. Maccus was up the stairs and by his side in a heartbeat. "Captain? What have you decided?"  
Jones just smiled and took the wheel. He noticed his inactive crew and roared. "Back to work!" then turned his attention to steering the ship.  
The first mate gripped the side rail as the Dutchman swung round hard to starboard. "Where are we going?"  
"Somewhere nice." And that was all he would say.

Night had crept across the sky when Bennet called down from the crow's nest. "Land ahoy!" **(A/N 1)**  
Maccus struggled to take this in. "Land?"  
Jones smiled. "Aye. Land. Port St. Lucia to be precise."  
"But. . . your 10 years aren't up yet."  
"I am aware of that, but I was asked to do something nice for the _crew_ was I not?"  
Maccus jaw fell open. Then a broad grin turned up the sides of his mouth. "Lads! Shore leave!"  
The crew erupted into cheering.  
Bootstrap smiled and turned to Hadras. "So what happens now?"  
"Same as what happened when we had to go ashore to give the Black Spot to McCarthy."  
"But we have to wait for Maccus and Jimmylegs to organise us into groups before we can go down to the hold to get our stuff," Clanker explained.

The Flying Dutchman slowly approached Port St. Lucia. When they were still some way from the port proper, Davy Jones ordered the anchor to be dropped; this was as far as he could go.  
The excited crew swarmed about the longboats like bees around their hive and soon a line of them was streaming from the Dutchman. It was not the prospect of land that enticed them so, but the promise of rum, fresh food that was not live fish and other things they had gone without for so long.  
"So," said Clanker as he pulled at the oars. "Where shall we go first?"  
He was in a boat with Bootstrap, Hadras, Koleniko and Maccus.  
"You can do what you like," said Maccus. "First greengrocer I see is where I'm going. Haven't tasted oranges for too long."  
Clanker beamed. "I hear you, mate."  
"I don't suppose they'd sell Scottish whiskey here, would they?" Bootstrap wondered aloud.  
Koleniko raised an eyebrow. "_Scottish_ whiskey, Bootstrap?"  
Bill looked up at the Dutchman, at Jones, who was staring dejectedly out at Port St. Lucia. "It's not for me, it's for the Captain." To remind him that it still pays to be nice.  
Maccus scratched his chin. "That's a good idea. But what should _I_ get him?"  
"I was thinking of getting him a locket," said Clanker.  
All eyes were on him.  
He looked around. "What?"  
"Isn't that a bit. . ." Hadras paused, searching for the right word. "Feminine?"  
"Well. . . he's a got locket already, I thought-"  
"Thought he might have a thing with lockets?" Maccus interrupted.  
Clanker muttered sheepishly "Something like that."  
"Hmm, well I'm sure there's logic in there somewhere."  
They were near the docks now. Clanker pulled the oars in and the first mate grabbed the rope and hopped up onto the jetty. He tied up the boat as the others jumped out. A few Port St. Lucians had hurried down to the docks to help the crew tie up their boats in the hopes of earning a few coins. It was one such man that was now staring at Maccus in horror.  
"It's a hat," he said and gave him a glare that dared him to challenge this statement. "Keep quiet and no-one gets hurt." The poor man fumbled the coin that was flipped to him and watched after the departing first mate's back.  
"Do as he said, lad," said Bootstrap, patting the man's shoulder as he passed.

Bill looked around at the town. It was not as busy as it would have been had it been daylight, but there was still a few people around. Most of his fellow crewmembers were moving through the town without causing a disturbance, but a few others were drawing wide-eyed looks. He heard them muttering excuses such as "It's a skin condition," or watched as they simply flipped the terrified observer a coin to hopefully shut them up.  
Maccus tugged repeatedly at his coat trying to adjust it and growled to himself. "Why didn't we have anything larger?"  
Bill realised that the lobster legs protruding from the first mate's back were no doubt cramped uncomfortably inside his coat. This was quickly forgotten when Maccus' eyes rested on an assortment of fruit. "Oranges!" He exclaimed and hurried forward.  
Bootstrap picked up an apple, smiling. Then the smile faded and he put the apple back. **(A/N 1)** He looked up when his four companions exited the grocery shop, each happily stuffing fruit into their mouths.  
"Bootstrap? Not going to-" Hadras began. Then he remembered. "Oh. Uh. Never mind."  
He simply smiled. "Where next?"  
Clanker noticed a souvenir shop not far along the street. "Ooh. There."  
Maccus smirked. "Still going for a locket, eh?"  
"Shut up."  
His smirk widened.  
They entered the shop. Koleniko was drawn to a silver box. He picked it up and examined it, contemplating it as a gift for Jones. Yes, he decided. This would make a good tobacco box.  
Maccus observed his companions browsing the shop as he finished off the last of his oranges. He noted Koleniko's purchase with some interest, an idea forming. Clanker in the meantime had found his desired locket. Maccus noticed that this too was silver. The idea solidified and he searched the shop for his gift.

The first mate approached his companions who had converged at the entrance to the shop, waiting for him to finish buying his gift. He tucked the silver polish into his coat pocket and looked around at the group. "Are we ready to go?"  
"Aye," they replied.  
"Good. There's just Mr. Turner's whiskey and whatever Mr. Hadras' gift is left, then we can go back to the ship."

Davy Jones leant against the side rail of the Flying Dutchman's starboard side, smoking his pipe as he surveyed the port. The ship was quiet except for the creaking of the timbers. The disturbing lack of crew was making him terribly lonely. They had been gone a few hours and he took a short stroll around the deck before deciding this was long enough.  
_**Gentlemen. Time to return to the ship.**_  
A multitude of _**Aye, Captain**_s assaulted his mind and he winced slightly.  
Within minutes he could see the port become a hive of activity as his crew returned to the longboats. He was pleased to see that the first longboat back was Maccus and his party.  
The first mate and Koleniko quickly scrambled up the ladder. Clanker and Bootstrap each grabbed the ropes tied to either end of the boat and threw them up to the waiting crewmen. When the last three crewmembers were clear of the boat, it was hauled back into place.  
Leaving their fellows to sort their own boats out, the quintet approached the Captain.  
"You first, Mr. Turner," said Maccus.  
Davy Jones was watching the crew returning in case something went wrong, and thus did not notice them approach.  
"Captain."  
"Mr. Turner?"  
Bootstrap smiled as he held out the bottle. "For you."  
Jones appeared a little taken aback as he took the bottle. "Thank you, M-" He broke off when he read the label. "This. . ." He had trouble forming the word. "Is. . ." Then stopped altogether.  
"Very expensive. Yes. Mr. Hadras here had to contribute to the cost."  
Jones smiled in wordless thanks and Bootstrap and Hadras smiled back.  
Koleniko felt himself being shoved forward from behind.  
"You too, Mr. Koleniko?"  
"Aye. It was Bootstrap's idea, we were just. . . following his example."  
He pulled the tobacco box out of his pocket.  
"Ah. How fortunate. My other one has disappeared under some sea anemones. _Stinging_ sea anemones." He added ruefully.  
Jones tucked the whiskey under his left arm, reluctant to let go of the bottle as if it would inexplicably vanish or fall to the deck and smash as he took the box from Koleniko, thanking him in the process.  
Clanker suddenly lurched forward as the box disappeared into one of the Captain's pockets.  
"And what do you have for me, Mr. Clanker?"  
Clanker pulled out his gift as his comrades, with the exception of Bill, stifled chortles.  
He accepted the locket, on which his name was inscribed in elaborate writing, with a slightly confused expression, but took it gratefully none the less. It too was put into a pocket for safekeeping.  
Finally, it was Maccus' turn. "Bought you some silver polish, Captain."  
Jones smiled and nodded. "Good. My other locket could do with a clean." When the silver polish was secured alongside Clanker's locket, he looked around at the quintet. "I'm curious, what made you decide to buy these gifts for me?"  
"It was a nice thing to do, Captain," Maccus replied before Bootstrap could answer. "Back to work, lads," he ordered. The group hustled off, leaving Jones to mull over Maccus reply.  
_**Does the word touché apply here?  
Eavesdropping, Charybdis?  
Of course. Bill's been plotting that for months. Looks like it paid off, if you ask me.  
Did it now?  
Aye. Bill's right; you're not a bad man like you say you are. You'll do something nice for them in return, Father, that's the way these things work.  
We shall see, Charybdis.  
We shall indeed, Father.**_

Power:  
A/N 1: This is not necessarily the same day, but when I was picturing the land scenes in my head, they always took place at night.  
A/N 2: He rejects the apple for two reasons. :D

Seeing as part of Davy Jones curse states that he can't make port, I'm assuming that means he can't park his ship in a harbour until his 10 years are up. But then I could be taking that a little too literally.

Oh yes. These gifts are going to pay off later. -  
Another thing is that the Jones/Kraken relationship is different to that of Dreamlocked. In fact, quite a lot is different, which is why I don't think I'll continue it. It wasn't really going anywhere to begin with. . .

I love bee similes. :D


	9. Chapter 9: Decimation

**Power: I've noticed that underlying plot chapters tend to focus more on Maccus and Davy Jones, which means that Bootstrap once again takes a back seat in this chapter.  
This chappie's a bit jumpy too. It hops forward a lot. Hope that doesn't bother you. If it does, do say so and I'll try and stop my bad habit. XD And let's not get into how unbelievably long this took, but it's thanks to the AWE trailer that I got motivated to do it.**

Chapter 9: Decimation

It was the following day after their impromptu shore leave. Bootstrap Bill Turner, as was usual for him now, had been on watch all night. Unlike the other nights, however, he was in much higher spirits. Apparently, he had needed the shore leave as much the rest of the crew. He looked up at the brightening sky and smiled, wondering what the day would bring.

The sound of someone stirring below deck drew his attention back to the present. Then the loud, clear, ringing of the bell, followed by Jimmylegs' voice shattered the silence. "Come on, lads, up and at 'em!"  
Then the thumps and thuds of the rousing crew could be heard as they pulled themselves out of their hammocks.  
Bill was startled, only slightly, when Davy Jones materialised beside him. His own good mood caught him off guard and he gave the Captain an involuntary, winning smile. "Good morning, Captain."  
"Good morning, Mr. Turner," Jones replied readily, rubbing an eye with his only hand.  
Maccus, the first mate was the first crewman on deck, as usual. He grinned revealing his sharp teeth and bid both Bill and Jones a cheerful good morning. This action was repeated by the rest of the crew and Bill was struck by their altered mood. He had never seen them so happy. In fact he could not recall seeing them in high spirits at all. They attacked their chores with gusto and hummed or whistled pirate shanties to themselves as they worked.  
Curious, Bill cast a look at Jones, evaluating his mood. The coldness that was usually a characteristic of Jones' gaze, only vanishing when his guard was down, was absent. Which meant that he too was feeling happier today. He caught Bootstrap staring at him and gave him a questioning frown.  
"You seem a lot happier today, Captain."  
"That so."  
"Aye. It would seem it does pay to be nice," he remarked.  
Jones answered this with a "I do believe the watch is over, Mr. Turner."  
He took the hint, smiling. "So it is," and headed over to Jimmylegs for the day's duties.  
"Bootstrap," said Clanker. "I almost forgot what it means to be means to happy."  
"Is life really that bad on the Dutchman?" **(A/N 1)**  
"Aye. Sure you win a few games of Liar's Dice and you're happy because you've got off so many years of service and then of course there's the thrill of chasing a live ship but I've never felt happy-happy in too long. Jones is not what you'd call a happy chap, he never does anything nice for us off his own back. He needs people like you and what you did yesterday."  
Bill stopped swabbing the deck intrigued by this new piece of information. "So what nice things has he done before?"  
Clanker lent on his mop. "This was way before you joined, but I won a game of Dice against him and got him to give us a 'singing night'. We put our heads together, gave him a list of songs we wanted to sing and he played for us. You should have been there, Bootstrap. The whole crew packed into his cabin." **(A/N 2)** He smiled at the memory.  
"I could tell that our tone-deaf singing was deeply offensive to his musical ears, but he seemed happy to carry on regardless. Good times." **(A/N 3)**  
Clanker's enthusiasm was infectious and Bill smiled as well.  
"Turner! Clanker! Back to work!" Jimmylegs roared from across the ship.  
"Aye, sir," the two chorused.  
"I'm surprised the Captain doesn't do nice things more often, if it makes him happier too."  
Clanker sighed. "It's not a of case enjoying being miserable. He's a damaged and isolated individual **(A/N 4)**. Misery is just all he knows. **(A/N 5)** And you know the saying right?"  
"Misery loves company."  
"That's the one."

Maccus hopped up the stairs to the wheel. "Captain?"  
"It's not a shipwreck. But I don't know what it is."  
The First Mate shook his head, irritated by something. "I'm getting this weird buzzing sensation in my head, is that normal?"  
Jones seemed delighted by the news. "Take the wheel."  
He did so.  
"Now where does this buzzing sensation tell you to go?"  
Maccus concentrated, scratched the left side of his forehead and pointed to west-northwest.  
"Don't tell me, just steer the ship."

Thick, black smoke billowed up into the sky from a few locations. They could see a few people running back and forth from the harbour carrying buckets.  
"Looks like it was pirates," Maccus observed. He reached up to scratch his forehead again.  
"Captain," it was Jimmylegs. "We don't rescue people from ports. Why are we here?"  
"Are you serious? Maccus growled. "You don't feel that?"  
"Feel what?"  
"Do you remember that fog?" Jones cut in.  
"Aye," the chorused.  
"The same pirates that attacked that ship attacked this harbour," he turned to Jimmylegs. "That's why we're here." He cast one last look at the decimated port. "There's nothing we can do here. Let us depart."  
The First Mate took the wheel again and the Dutchman began to pull away.  
"We'd better dive," Jones advised.  
Maccus didn't question why. "Brace yourselves! Prepare to dive!"  
The crew took up his call, passing it down to the bow and to the decks below. The Dutchman tilted, sinking below the waves and the water rushed up to meet them.

The Flying Dutchman surged out of the water and came to crashing rest. Maccus scratched his forehead. "Something's still buzzing," he sighed.  
"Are you sure it's not the port?" Davy Jones asked.  
"No. It's not in the same direction."  
"Good. There's a shipwreck close by."  
Maccus closed his eyes concentrating. He shook his head. "It's too faint, I can't pinpoint it."  
"I'll take the wheel, you keep searching for it."

"Pirates again," observed the First Mate. "Same ones that attacked the port."  
Jones frowned. "How can you-" Hold on. There was that aura again. He blinked. "You're right. That aura again. How did I miss it?"  
"Simple. You're so accustomed to sensing shipwrecks. I'm not."  
The Captain tilted his head to one side and regarded Maccus more closely. "You didn't sense a shipwreck. You sensed the aura."  
Maccus looked disappointed. "Oh. I guess that means I won't be finding shipwrecks on my own, then."  
"I don't pick my First Mates for their potential to develop their sixth sense, that's an added bonus. That said, a lot of them do. . ."  
It was Maccus' turn to frown. "So if it's not my sixth sense developing as we first thought, what is it?"  
"It is your sixth sense," Jones assured. "But it's not developing the way it should do. It's always manifested shipwreck-first and magic later, if at all."  
There was a long pause as they mulled over this development.  
"Exposure?" Maccus offered.  
Jones frowned. "You've had more exposure to shipwrecks than to the aura. Undoubtedly, it's been left on a few of the shipwrecks we've visited, but it's not enough. You'd need continuous exposure."  
"What about the salvage?"  
"Possible. . . I wonder then, who else has been affected."  
"Three names spring to mind; Koleniko, Clanker and Hadras. Those three I usually take on boarding parties."  
"Even though it's supposed to rotational?"  
Maccus coughed. "They're good."  
"All right, I'll have a word with them." He hollered for the three to stop what they were doing and to come to the helm. They were quick to obey.  
"Something's come up," he explained. "I want you to tell me if your feel something."  
"Like a sort of buzzing in my head?" Clanker asked.  
Maccus and Jones exchanged looks.  
Hadras stared at him, surprised. "You mean you get it too?"  
Koleniko looked left out. "I don't get anything."  
"Interesting," Jones remarked looking from one to the other. "You wouldn't happen to suspect anyone else?"  
Maccus shook his head. "No-one springs to mind. Except for the newer recruits, but only because they definitely would not have manifested."  
"We'll leave this for now. Assemble the boarding party."  
"Aye, Captain."  
"And bring Mr. Turner for this one."  
"Aye, aye."

**A/N 1: He's only been on the ship for 2/3 years after all. That's not much to go on.  
A/N 2: How is that even possible? Oo?  
A/N 3: I also have it that on the evening of Maccus' first day as First Mate he persuaded Jones to let him celebrate by involving the entire ship (including Jones himself) in some form of drinking game. XD Damn. Must have had a lot of rum that night.  
A/N 4: Thanks to Bill Nighy for that line. :D  
A/N 5: Looks like someone's in dire need of a hug. XD**

Power: Now this sixth sense development is a little complicated. Basically Maccus was manifesting his anyway from prolonged exposure to Davy Jones (XD) which has made him sensitive to "the aura" and for that reason it manifested the wrong way round.  
Clanker and Hadras on the other hand. . . Work it out. >8)

I was also going to have them coming across another shipwreck attacked by the same pirate, I felt that I got that point that "something unusual was going on" across already.

Anything you want clarifying, ask away and all will explained, unless an explanation is already forth coming.


End file.
